


Under the Ice

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 01:26:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Liu turns around and Himuro pulls him down into a kiss. His face is already cold and the snowflakes stuck to his hair and eyelashes are melting onto Liu’s face. Yes, this kind of thing, when they’re definitely the only ones out here, is very nice, but he’s not quite sure it’s worth having snow in April.





	

**Author's Note:**

> may or may not take place in the same universe as the other hockey liuhimu (im too lazy to make it a series lmao)
> 
> terrible weather is my inspiration for a lot of fics, this one included.

The cold weather rolls back in slowly; they get used to days being significantly above freezing, grey skies and fog and rain pushing back the snowdrifts, road salt long since ground away into the sidewalks beneath their feet. But as it comes up on April, officially spring or not, the days get colder and rainier, just like fall all over again, like some sort of elaborate prank now that they’ve gotten their hopes up that summer might be coming. The rainstorm wakes Liu up in the middle of the night and he half-expects to look outside and see brown leaves plastered to the ground, but there’s just a few blades of grass poking through the soil and patches of dirty ice clinging to the edges.

Himuro, beside him, is sound asleep still; the rain is pounding down louder than Liu can drown out and Liu’s moving around but Himuro’s still curled around his side, breathing easy. He can never get to sleep, but once he’s there he’s out cold, like he’s trapped under the ice rink. There’s still a bruise on his upper arm from where he’d blocked a shot last week, fading to a sick greenish-yellow around the edges; he can pretend it doesn’t hurt all he wants but it’s hard to argue with that. Liu checks his phone; it’s not even two in the morning and only four or five hours since they’d gone to sleep. Liu slides back down and puts his phone back to sleep; Himuro stirs but it’s just to shift and snuggle closer. He’s cute when he does this; Liu’s thought about telling him he does (it’s something he’d never really do when they’re awake) but weighing how self-conscious it would make Himuro (he might try and figure out a way to control himself in his sleep and close himself off) versus how fucking cute he’d get about being slightly embarrassed (and the faint possibility he’d start doing it when he’s awake, too) results in a draw for now. Either way, Liu’s glad he does it. He falls asleep thinking about Himuro’s bedhead and how even when he sleeps his hand looks like it’s gripping a hockey stick, the sound of sticks on pucks and boards in his mind finally drowning out the rain.

It’s still raining when they wake up for morning practice and it feels like it’s gotten even colder out. Even with a thermal undershirt and his heaviest sweater and a coat and under an umbrella, Liu shivers on the walk over. Himuro, sharing the umbrella, seems fine; he even laughs at Liu’s scowl and Liu wonders if he could get away with hip-checking him into a puddle. At least they don’t have to play outside in this; the pond’s all melted and they’ve been using the indoor rink exclusively for weeks now. And with the weather like this, he gets to stand close to Himuro (just so they can both fit under the cheap umbrella, but still).

Himuro stays after practice to work on his shot; Liu stays on the bench and watches him for a bit (he gets a text from Murasakibara that reads “it’s hailing now lol good luck” and decides that maybe it’s better if they stay a little while longer until the hail turns back to rain). Himuro switches to suicides but there’s only so many he can leg out; after a few he’s clearly close to done (but too fucking stubborn) so Liu hops over the boards and skates up to him, tapping him on the shins with his skate.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Himuro stops and turns to look at him; he’s almost too winded to say anything.

“Go get some water. I’ll pick up the pucks.”

Liu does kind of get, beyond the usual reasons (because it’s Himuro and he pushes himself and expects superhumanity), why Himuro likes staying late. It’s nice to skate around an empty rink, have it all to yourself after a practice or a game where you’re trying to wall everyone off and muscle past them into the tiniest pocket of empty space. Maybe that’s what a penalty shot or shootout attempt is like, the kind of thing defensive defensemen like him rarely get in a real game; it’s like a breakaway where you’re breaking away from the emptiness and it’s just you and the goalie and the net and the weight of the outcome is on your shoulders. Liu hoists the handle of the bucket into the crook of his elbow and, instead of just flipping the last puck into the bucket, skates down toward the net with it on his stick. He roofs it above the blocker of the imaginary goalie and stops with a swerve, spraying snow into the net, and picks up the puck. They really should shower and get back.

“Not going to try a spin-o-rama?” says Himuro, leaning on the boards and grinning at him.

“That’s more your style,” says Liu. “I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.”

Himuro laughs. He’s still got helmet hair, still wearing his gloves with his stick in one hand and water bottle in the other, and when they’re both wearing skates the height difference feels a little smaller. Liu sets the bucket of pucks on top of the boards and leans down to kiss him, and fuck, they’re both so gross and sweaty.

“Shower,” says Liu, bumping Himuro’s chest with his shoulder.

It’s no longer hailing when they get outside. It’s fucking snowing. Liu swears under his breath and pulls his coat tighter around him. It’s too windy to use the umbrella and there’s already a centimeter or two of snow coating the ice and dirt on the ground. Himuro’s not even walking that fast; Liu’s practically pulling him along. Had he really gone that much harder than usual in practice? He’d seemed fine afterward.

“Can we go faster?” says Liu.

Himuro stops, tugging on Liu’s elbow. Liu turns around and Himuro pulls him down into a kiss. His face is already cold and the snowflakes stuck to his hair and eyelashes are melting onto Liu’s face. Yes, this kind of thing, when they’re definitely the only ones out here, is very nice, but he’s not quite sure it’s worth having snow in April.

“We shouldn’t be doing this in the snow so late in the year,” says Liu. “We can go inside to a nice, warm, dry bed.”

“We can do that any time of year,” says Himuro.

“Why not start now?” says Liu.

“Because we won’t get much more of this.”

Liu supposes that’s fair enough but he doesn’t have time to decide before Himuro’s kissing him again, cold fingertips against the collar of Liu’s coat and brushing against Liu’s jaw. Liu’s own hands have been safely in his pockets but he takes them out (God, it’s cold; his face is already mostly numb) so he can grope Himuro’s ass (even for a hockey player’s, it’s nice). Even when he puts them in Himuro’s back pockets, they’re cold).

“You wouldn’t last a week in Canada,” Himuro says.

“You’re from California, asshole,” says Liu. “I hope you get drafted by fucking Edmonton.”

“We’ll see,” says Himuro, laughing.

(How is it possible to look this good so smug and with melting snow all over his face?)

“I’m going back,” says Liu. “You can come with me or not.”

It’s an empty threat, but Himuro catches up with him anyway.


End file.
